“I tried to think of a good reason as to why I had a sex book down my pants, but my brain refused to work.”

“I was leaving nothing to chance, and literally refused to be caught unarmed with my pants down.”

“[I hear phone sex can work], I sent, [but I kind of doubt text-sex would.]He sent me a picture shot down his pants. I snickered and sent him a picture of my mouth.[autehigixuhi&^%$], he sent back. Then, [yeah, phone sex not satisfying. Also I think I dick-dialed Kentucky.]”

“I was perpetually grief-stricken when I finished a book, and would slide down from my sitting position on the bed, put my cheek on the pillow and sigh for a long time. It seemed there would never be another book. It was all over, the book was dead. It lay in its bent cover by my hand. What was the use? Why bother dragging the weight of my small body down to dinner? Why move? Why breathe? The book had left me, and there was no reason to go on.”

“If I had the strength, I'd find myself otherwise occupied, but my legs refuse to move. My mouth seems to be working just fine though. If I had gills, I could go down on you.”

“If I had bodily functions, I think I would have peed my pants.”